I tried figuring out how long that meant I had been at the White House.
I wondered if my kids remembered me. Was my mom still watching them? Did my wife ever come back?
I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer to that.
The President kept things business as usual which I guess is his prerogative. But it did catch up to him.
He caught the virus.
They ended up taking him to Lou Reed Medical Center in the middle of the night. Everyone was freaking out. I’ll be honest, I was wondering why they would name a hospital after the guy who wrote Take A Walk On The Wild Side.
But that’s just me. I’m probably a little more observant than most folks around here. If I was having a medical emergency, I’d want to be taken to a place that was named after an actual doctor like Doctor Kevorkian’s Center of Healing or something like that.
After a day or two, my Turner Classic Movies marathon was interrupted by Rory, the Viagra aide.
Him and a few secret service agents took me to the medical center to visit the President. And it wasn’t good. I’m not a doctor but from my medical experience, I’d say the guy was as close to death as you can get without actually dying.
He had tubes going everywhere. IV lines. A catheter tube.
Never saw the President as being fragile like that.
“We don’t have much time,” Rory said.
“Oh, so say goodbye?” I asked. I didn’t know what I’d say. Maybe thank him for the cheeseburgers and thousands of movies I got to watch.
“No, you’re going to save him!” the aide cried.
“I don’t know how he’s going to give me a hand job in that condition,” I informed him.